


Begin Again

by Winterkissed_Jasmine



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: 39 previous timelines, F/M, Lots of it, Sex, Some Spoilers, Teacher-Student Relationship, weird timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 00:51:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13283430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterkissed_Jasmine/pseuds/Winterkissed_Jasmine
Summary: Begin again, and again, and again and again and....Henry Fogg has lived 39 timelines over and over and over. Some of them he dies early on, some of them he loses his eyes, his hands. Sometimes he lives on until Quentin Coldwater dies and the world resets.Thirty-nine fucking times Fogg has done this, and there's always been one consoling factor: Julia Wicker, the viciously-smart student.---In other words, going over the 39 timelines between Dean Fogg and Julia Wicker.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so bear with me. This is an odd ship, I understand. But I was rewatching season 2 and I noticed something that struck a chord within me. In episode 9 and 10, Dean Fogg says something about how he's known Julia thirty-nine times and we still a little snippet of what their relationship was in previous timelines. 
> 
> Now, that whole scene could just be commenting on how Julia's life is and how it affected her from being at Brakebills, causing this ripple of anguish and depression for her in this timeline— but I saw it honestly more as if it were from Fogg's memories. There's something bittersweet in his tone as he releases her from that prison. Not to mention, the whole 10th episode is full of Dean and Jules and it's givin' me shipping vibes!
> 
> This might be a series, where I do every timeline, but I'm not sure yet. Anywho, let's start

You be the Moon

I'll be the Earth

When we burst

Start over, o darling

 

The first timeline did not matter. Sure, it was the start of this hellhole that Henry Fogg now called his life, but it did not matter, truly. He simply was surprised when it happened, when everything went to shit. Quentin Coldwater and all of his associates were killed the first day, in that classroom. Henry Fogg was left to mourn for a single day before a woman appeared in his office. 

He had just finished a nasty bottle of brandy when she landed on his carpet, hands folded delicately in front of her, a smile on her face. Looking like a young girl, barely over the age fourteen, head cocked to the side. "Henry Fogg." 

He looked up, squinted blearily. "Who are you?" Truthfully, Fogg didn't fucking care. A whole class of his students — twenty fucking students — died the evening before. Under his care, under  _his wards_ , he allowed them to die—

The girl gave a little cluck of her tongue and seated herself in the armchair in front of her desk. "Henry, please stop this pitying you have for yourself. I cannot bear it." She smiled serenely, placed a delicate, gloved hand on her chest. "I am Jane Chatwin and I've come to set back time."

There were many things wrong with that statement, Fogg was aware. "Jane Chatwin? The book character" He had never actually read them, but  _Quentin couldn't fucking shut up about them_. Fogg leaned back wearily, rubbed his face and summoned another bottle of brandy. "Interesting costume but I really have no time for games. There has just been a tradegy—"

"Twenty students slaughtered by a man covered in moths?" She inquired pleasantly, her words a soft British tenor. "Or perhaps a tree branch, depending on the viewer?" 

Fogg sat up hard, his jaw locking. "How do you know that? Who are you?" Even in his inebriated state, his hands shot up, a defensive spell on his fingertips. The girl sighed and waved her hand and with an abrupt shout, Fogg's hands were pressed against his armrests. 

The girl checked a pocket watch. "We have a short time before I must reset the timeline." She gave him a flinty look, and Fogg felt as if all of his secrets were laid bare. "You are too drunk for this." She jerked her hand and Fogg's sudden drunkness vanished like mist in the sun. 

She sighed, crossed her legs. "I am Jane Chatwin from the books. I've spent the last fifty years in Fillory learning magic. I've also spent the last fifty years trying to battle the same creature that killed your beloved students. I have been... unsuccessful these last few years. I have had too many close calls and I am unable to stay in Fillory in fear for my life. It has been obvious that — please no talking — my attempts to kill him will always be unsuccessful. So I have searched elsewhere, in other worlds for a way to kill him." Something unknown, a bitter sadness crossed over the girl's face. A tenderness that made Fogg feel like he was intruding. 

"Why are you here?" Henry Fogg had always been a practical, straight-forward man. 

"I have found the ones who  _can_ kill the Beast." A tremor in her voice. "Quentin Coldwater."

Fogg laughed, a sudden abrupt rattle that surprised him. " _Quentin Coldwater_? Now I know this is a fucking game. That sod isn't — wasn't — a brave hero ready to battle on a white steed here to save a fucking fairytale land." With a sudden, fierce anger that surprised him, he picked up the bottle of brandy and flung it to the wall, shattering the glass. "Fuck I'm speaking of him in the present tense. Get the fuck out of my office." His breaths were coming out in pants, fury and sorrow and hatred twisting through him. They were his  _students_ —

Jane Chatwin sighed, glanced at the pocket watch again. "You are unable to see logic and we are out of time. I will explain it in the next timeline." With a clear, concise flick of her wrist, Jane threw the wrist-watch into the air. 

An exhale, the world tightening around Fogg for a second. He had the uncanny feeling that the world was being swept out from beneath his feet, a twisting right in his lungs, slowing dragging the air from his lungs until he couldn't breathe anymore. Panic, raking its nails across his nerves and he couldn't move a limb—

And then the weight on his chest vanished. 

Henry Fogg inhaled harshly, shook his shoulders slightly. Glanced around for — who? 

He ran a hand across his bare skull. There had been someone in his office hadn't there? But the face he was trying to remember slipped beneath his fingers like water. Why did he feel... sad? Sorrowful? Was there a reason? 

Henry meandered over to the window and peered out, furrowing his brow as he did. It was cold, snow softly falling. Hadn't it been spring just a few seconds ago? But his mind — it told him that it was March 21st, the winter season had just begun in Brakebills off-kilter seasons. 

He turned toward the globes, an odd sense of deja-vu sliding over him. He needed to look for new students for the next semester. He had already located a few, he was just trying to find the right time—

"Quentin Coldwater. You want to find him." An amused, oddly-familiar British voice peaked up behind him, and Henry turned in surprise. A young girl smiled at him before holding out her hand. "Jane Chatwin."

\----

Henry rubbed his forehead. "So what will be changed?" 

Jane hummed softly, tapping her chin lightly with her finger. "I'm not quite sure yet. This is really just an experiment, to see which endings get the farthest. I will figure it out before the semester starts, trust me." She laughed lightly, charmingly before glancing down at herself. "I, however, do not believe that this image will get me very far in this world. What do you suggest, Henry?"

 _Whatever will get you out of my school_. The swell of bitterness twisted in his throat surprised him, the words that came out even more. "Am I supposed to watch them die again and again? Until what?"

"Why, until they defeat the Beast!" 

"It is not  _their_ problem to deal with!" He snarled, slammed his hands on the desk. "They did not ask for this! Neither did I! I don't  _want_ this." 

Jane Chatwin straightened, her mouth becoming a hard straight line, exhaustion in her eyes. "Do you think  _I_ wanted this? If I could have defeated the Beast then I wouldn't be here would I?" She snapped out her arm, pointed out the window. "Do you think the Beast will stop with Fillory? The well on Fillory is running out of the magic! He will not _stop_  until he gets enough to make himself a God, do you realize that? I cannot stop them, but these children might!" 

Jane turned, her jaw locking tightly. "I cannot save my world, my _home_ , but I will do anything to find who can." She sighed, softly once. "It will be hard, Henry. And if you want, perhaps I can erase your memory each time the timeline resets. If you do not want to live with the past."

Henry Fogg looked away, his eyes trained on something far away before saying softly. "No. I want to remember everything." 

\----

And so the second year began. The change, it appeared, was keeping Charlie Quinn alive. Mayakovsky had found Emily Greenstreet before Charlie did, fixed her up, and then removed her from the school all without anyone else finding out. Mayakovsky remained on the Brakebills staff, but Henry couldn't help but feel a bit disgusted every interaction he had with him. Fogg couldn't  _prove_ that the professor had an inappropriate relationship with Greenstreet, therefore he couldn't necessarily do anything without a revolt. All he could do was warily watch the man with every female student that came through the school. 

They all passed, as he knew they would. Quentin, Penny, Kady, Alice, and Julia. They went through the first few months without trouble, before their sorting day came to be. Foggs was stuck with Julia Wickers, who smiled, amused when he explained what it was.

"So it's like the Hogwarts Sorting Quiz? Will you tell me what house I'm in?" Her mouth quirked to the side with a playful smirk as she leaned forward, her voice pitching to a conspiratory whisper. "I always thought I was in Slytherin, to be honest." 

He chuckled, surprised at how warm it came out. "Something like that. You will be put through a few different tests to find where your best suited." He glanced at his list, shifted so he leaned against the table and nodded. "Let us begin."

They went through the first few checklists, handing her a small plant, telling her to peer through the Seer glass, tying a few knots and came up with nothing. Finally, he got to  _Knowledge_. "Alright Miss Wicker, I want you to try this spell out for me." He did the quick hand motions, allowing a shimmery formation form around his body, only to be seen through a small circular glass. She studied him intensely, before nodding. 

She did it, as smoothly as he had done it, and then frowned when nothing appeared. "Nothing's happened?" She asked, her voice suddenly small. 

"Let me see the glass." She handed it to him and he peered through it. He smiled, lowering the looking glass. "Very impressive, Ms. Wicker."

"Let me do it again," Julia said quickly. "I was wondering what would happen if I connected the sequence with Atsuko's Spectral Refraction." 

He nodded his consent, a small smile still on his face. She exhaled, sliding her shoulders back and raised her hands. More carefully this time, she went through the motions, circulating her hands before slowly bringing her crosser fingers down and around to face him. A white shimmery mist followed her fingertips as she dragged it down and snapped, forming a glowing vortex in the middle of her palms. Around them, the light from the windows flared bright and beautiful and Fogg couldn't help but laugh.

"That is a second-year spell, Miss Wicker." He scolded lightly and watched as her golden cheeks flushed slightly, giving him a sheepish grin.

"I read ahead."

"More than that — you understood the theory behind the spell and you reshaped it. Your discipline is meta-composition." At the confused look flickering over her face, he clarified. "You are a Knowledge Student."

"Knowledge?" She breathed softly, her caramel eyes widening slightly. 

"Part physical, part psychic. There really is no branch it doesn't touch on. The short version: you are drawn, mind and body, to the discovery of magic."

A grin slid across her face and she bounced slightly on her toes. "Is it true that they — we — live in the attic above the library?" 

"I assure you, it is much more luxurious than it sounds—"

"No!" She said quickly, her face starting to glow. "It sounds like... bliss actually." He quite liked the way she was smiling, simply joyful, practically shining with it. 

"I enjoyed it." At her surprised look, he smiled. "I am a Knowledge student. It never really ends." Crossing his arms, he moved closer. "You have a rare gift, Julia. And I must admit, I' envious of the many rich discoveries that you have ahead of you. Welcome."

Her smile became gentler, softer. "Thank you."


	2. Chapter 2

Julia  _loved_ the Knowledge house. Situated right over the library, you accessed it via a small bookshelf in the back corner in which you had to pull down "Schknowzy's Way Of Magic" (A famous book was written by an even more famous previous Knowledge student) and the bookshelf slid to the side to reveal a winding staircase up. If somehow, by accident, a non-Knowledge student was to touch Schknowzy's book, it wouldn't budge, glued onto the shelf.

Quentin accompanied Julia the first time she went up those spiraling stairs, letting out a low whistle when he saw the stairs. "I might just wait down here." He laughed at her scowl, raising his hands in defense when she punched in his shoulder. "Fine! Fine — you're gonna have fantastic calves living here, Jules." 

He wasn't wrong. The stairs were almost three flights, winding up and up — which didn't sound like much, except when you've spent several months sitting on your ass reading books about magic, exercise gets pretty difficult — and Julia ended up mildly winded at the top. 

Quentin made a small noise when he saw the Knowledge house. "To think, Physical kids only get a cottage." 

Calling it a house was an understatement, it was more like a gigantic, looming, open-floored loft that covered the whole roof of the Library. It had a grungy, raucous feel to it, with long grimy brick pillars holding up the roof that loomed far above. Leather couches and armchairs decorated randomly across the dark varnished wooden floor, small scratch marks following them as if they were used to be dragging here and there. The floor was unevenly placed, with sudden inclines or small steps to lead into a lower or higher part of the floorplan. A fireplace, like one you would find outside, was placed in the middle of one of these drops, surrounded by more comfortable looking chairs and footstools and side tables. A kitchen was situated in the far corner, with a bar-like table wrapping around it and a wall of hundreds of different alcohol. ("That would put Elliot to shame," Quentin commented when he saw it.) Dishes were stacked in the sink, but some sort of magic was allowing them to be cleaned automatically as if an invisible hand was scrubbing the dishes and setting them back where they belonged. Several metal winding staircases led to another level of the loft, presumably where the bathrooms and bedrooms were. Natural light glimmered in through a full wall window on the far side, and Julia found herself meandering toward it. You could see all of Brakebills, even the Physical cottage, tucked in the far corner near the woods. The main building, with the labs and classrooms and Dean Fogg's office, was planted right in the middle, it's tan stones shining in the sun. It was close enough that Jules could practically see inside the windows. 

And the most amazing part was the books. Like the Library it was situated on, almost every single wall was covered in shelves practically bending with the weight of the books. High above, animated books flapped breezily, occasionally getting low enough that Julia could glimpse part of their titles. Even the bedrooms were situated with various bookshelves, some empty, some already filled. 

The bedrooms were as lavish and industrial as the first floor, with dark burgundy brick walls with a platform bed that appeared to be almost hovering inches over the floor. When Julia sat down on one, it shifted slightly before bouncing back to its original position. A desk was placed in each room, with what looked like a spiral staircase leading to a bathroom above the bedroom. No shared bathrooms for her. 

However, the bedrooms appeared to be unlived in. Only about two of the fifteen rooms appeared to have clothes and decorations, claiming them. "There must not be a lot of Knowledge kids, I guess." She mumbled to Q as she claimed the room as far as she could get from the two already claimed. The one she picked had a wall to wall window, similar to the main floor that over-looked directly into the main Brakebills building. 

When she turned to Q, she was practically in tears. "Oh, Q, I _love_  it." She threw her arms around him and tried to not notice when he lingered a bit too long. She couldn't allow it to ruin her fantastic mood. When he asked if he could move in, eyebrow raised suggestively, she forced a bland smile and laugh. 

When Q finally left, Jules was left in the big empty loft alone. She spent more time searching, opening every cabinet and looking for tiny nooks and crannies (after making herself a fantastic cocktail of course). The cabinets in the kitchen were packed with every type of food imaginable, and when she removed something, it was just replaced with the same type. 

She found a door that led onto a looming balcony. A garden was impeccably kept. The first few sections were normal plants, tomatoes and mint and basil, but the further you got into it, the more unique the herbs came. Dragon's Breath flowers, Nettlesshade. And copious amounts of weed, right in the corner. 

Another door went to a private library (as if the bookshelves everywhere wasn't enough) and this one had enough books that it was over-flowing. Stacks were everywhere, some even over Julia's head. It was hard to move around without toppling over a stack, so eventually, Jules was forced to carefully back out and close the door behind. 

After exploring almost every inch, Julia retired on one of the leather couches — dragging it toward the window. With another cocktail in her hand, she watched the outside world. Someone was chasing someone else, a playful game that led to the prey being swept up and whirled about. She could almost hear their laughter, tinkling through the glass. Someone who looked sort of like Quentin was walking swiftly with another person with blonde hair, their strides long and quick. It was... lonely. 

She was separated from Quentin, and she knew he was already making friends with the kids of the Physical house. She had two other people in the Knowledge house, and she still hadn't seen them — and she doubted she ever would. 

"Miss Wicker." 

Jules jumped, dropping her cocktail and flinching when it shattered on the ground. "Shit!" She glanced around hurriedly for a towel anywhere, but the person who spoke chuckled warmly.

"Allow me." It was Dean Fogg, who passed his hand over the spill. It righted itself, the glass slowing drawing back together in slow motion until Jules was left with an untouched and unshattered cocktail once more. "I see you haven't waited to get into the alcohol." 

Julia laughed as she inspected the glass. The only reminder that it ever had been shattered was a slight crack along the side. "This place is amazing," She breathed, looking around again. "I just can't believe it."

Fogg chuckled and she watched as he looked around affectionately. She could see his eyes glittering with nostalgia, a small, distant smile. "Back in my days, the Knowledge house was a bit more lively. Much like the Physical House nowadays." 

"Except nerdy?" She asked wryly, sliding back into her comfortable position, flinging a leg over the arm of her chair. 

The Dean snorted, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Not exactly. We were known to get into a few... debacles. In fact, you know that hedge in the Maze? The one that grows into a giant dick every spring and can't be cut down? That was us." He tilted his chin toward the back of the loft. "In one of those rooms, you'll find a giant hole that looks down in the library, like a two-way mirror. We used it to spy on kids." 

"Oh, and of course the weed growing in the greenhouse—" He smirked. "Don't act like you didn't see it."

Julia laughed— a raw, joyful sound that bubbled in the air and burst. When it died in her throat, she gave a slightly morose glance around. "And now it's so empty." Alcholol made her melancholy. "It's kind of sad, how little kids there are." 

Fogg gave a small noise of agreement, his eyes gazing distantly out the window. "It's a rare discipline nowadays." When Jules followed his gaze, she could faintly see a figure standing beside a tree. "It's a difficult discipline to be in. All this knowledge around you — it is a lot to take in. Open the wrong book, do the wrong spell, and you can go crazy." 

She gaped at him, flicking a glance back toward the door that held the messy library behind it. "How often did that happen?" She asked, her voice becoming small. 

He didn't seem to notice, still staring intently out the window as he answered distantly. "Every few weeks or so. Perhaps that's why the House became so small." 

"But you'll protect me right?" Jules wasn't sure what prompted her to say that, but the words came blurting out, the image of herself turning crazy tumbling through her head. She had risked a few older, second or third-year spells. But all of those had been sanctioned by Brakebills, all had been practiced and perfected a million times before her. What would happen if she stumbled on something else — a dangerous, untouched spell? Fear shot through her and then — curiosity. That burning curiosity that made her inhale every book she had found in Brakebills.

Julia realized Fogg was giving her an indescribable look, inspecting and mild before he cracked an amused smile. "Of course. It's my job." After a second he cleared his throat and pulled a paper wrapped object from inside his jacket. "The reason that I've come is to give you this."

Julia grabbed it hungrily, eyeing it. "What is it?"

Dean Fogg rested a palm, lightly, on her shoulder. "A welcome home present."


End file.
